Luca POV:
The freezing rain felt like needles against my skin.
It washed over my face, soaking through my expensive suit until it clung to me like a heavy, useless rag. The water couldn't wash away the burning shame in my chest. It only magnified the pathetic reality of what I was: a stray dog kicked out of the palace.
I lay in the muddy puddle for a long time, my chest heaving.
Then, the side door of the restaurant opened. The massive, black Rolls Royce Phantom rolled out into the alleyway, its engine purring like a sleeping beast.
The windows were tinted pitch black. I couldn't see inside, but I knew she was in there. Elena. And that monster.
A wave of pure, unadulterated madness hijacked my brain. She was my property. She was supposed to be mine.
I scrambled up from the mud, my shoes slipping on the wet asphalt. I ran like a maniac toward the slow-moving car.
I slammed my bleeding hands against the thick bulletproof glass of the rear window. My split knuckles left bloody handprints on the dark tint.
"Elena!" I screamed, my voice tearing my throat. "Elena, look at me!"
The car didn't stop. It didn't speed up. It just kept rolling smoothly forward, completely ignoring my existence.
Suddenly, the two black SUVs trailing the Rolls Royce slammed on their brakes.
Four guards stepped out into the downpour. They didn't draw their guns. They didn't pull out batons. They just walked toward me with the cold, mechanical efficiency of slaughterhouse workers.
The lead guard didn't say a word. He just pivoted and drove his heavy combat boot directly into my stomach.
The force of the kick lifted me off my feet. I flew backward through the air, crashing onto the hard, flooded asphalt ten feet away.
I rolled onto my side, vomiting a mouthful of blood and rainwater.
"Stop!" Matteo screamed from the curb, dragging his broken body forward. "We are Lieutenants of the Chicago Outfit! You can't—"
The guard nearest to Matteo sneered. He dropped into a low crouch and delivered a brutal sweeping kick directly to the mechanical joint of Matteo’s prosthetic leg.
A sickening *crack* of snapping metal echoed over the rain. The prosthetic shattered completely. Matteo let out an agonizing shriek and collapsed into the puddle, clutching his stump.
The guards swarmed me.
It wasn't a fight. It was a one-sided, systematic destruction of my body.
Fists and steel-toed boots rained down on me. They knew exactly where to strike. They avoided my temple and my throat. They aimed for the ribs, the kidneys, the joints. They were maximizing the pain while keeping me conscious to feel every second of it.
I tried to throw a punch, but my street-brawling skills were a joke to these elite killers. A boot slammed into my chest. Three ribs snapped with a wet crunch.
Another fist crashed into my jaw, instantly shattering the bone that had just barely healed from Chicago.
I choked on my own blood, curling into a fetal position as the rain washed the red down the storm drain.
The lead guard grabbed a fistful of my wet hair. He yanked my head back, forcing my swollen eyes open to look down the street.
The red taillights of the Rolls Royce were disappearing into the New York night.
"Come near Mrs. Moretti again," the guard whispered, his voice dead and cold, "and your skull is next."
He released my hair, letting my head smack against the pavement. The guards turned, climbed back into their SUVs, and vanished.
The street was empty. The only sounds were the violent rain and Matteo’s pathetic, breathless whimpering.
I lay on my back, the freezing rain pounding into my open, bloodshot eyes. I couldn't breathe. The pain in my ribs was excruciating, but the agony in my mind was worse.
I was nothing. My anger, my desperation, my "love"—it didn't even qualify as a speed bump in her new world.
My trembling fingers twitched. I reached down into the muddy water and found the velvet box that had fallen from my pocket. It was crushed.
I pulled out the cheap diamond ring.
It looked so incredibly stupid sitting in the mud.
I closed my fist around it. I squeezed so hard the cheap metal band cut deep into my palm, drawing fresh blood.
I squeezed my eyes shut, and a wretched, broken laugh tore out of my shattered jaw.
A massive garbage truck rumbled past us, its tires hitting a deep pothole. A wave of foul, stinking street water splashed over me, burying me in the filth.
"I lost her... I really lost her."
